


Release

by Anonymous



Series: Forbidden Kinks [14]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Male Sheriff, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Boi Stiles, Bois/Alphas, But It's a Society Accepted Thing, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Rimming, Scat, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles is underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 13:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: John Stilinski had known pain before – he’d once been stabbed by a perp as he was trying to arrest him, and in another instance just a few months after that he’d actually been shot by a fellow deputy during shooting practice. Both of those times had been overwhelming and all together terrible, but he’d gotten through them.Luckily for this type of pain, he'd found the perfect medicine: booze, usually whiskey but sometimes he’d go for beer, and his teenage son.





	Release

**Author's Note:**

> It's been so long since I posted that I legitimately forgot my usual formatting, but hopefully this all checks out!

John Stilinski had known pain before – he’d once been stabbed by a perp as he was trying to arrest him, and in another instance just a few months after that he’d actually been shot by a fellow deputy during shooting practice. Both of those times had been overwhelming and all together terrible, but he’d gotten through them. 

But roughly once or twice a year, pain like nothing he’d ever felt took over his person. It was so intense and discomforting that it was all he could think about it, and when the pain hit he called in sick almost immediately, knowing he wouldn’t be able to work with the condition he was in. The condition being, that Sheriff John Stilinski had hemorrhoids. Yes, most would laugh if they were to discover that the Sheriff of the county could be waylaid by such a small thing, but if they had felt what he had to feel over those few days, they would understand.

Luckily, a few years ago, he’d found the perfect mixture of medication to take care of his problem – booze, usually whiskey but sometimes he’d go for beer, and his teenage son. 

~~

He’d caught Stiles watching gay porn one night, the volume in the headphones his son was wearing turned up too high for the then-thirteen-year-old boy to hear him open the door, and had been too shocked to alert him of his presence. He’d ended up frozen for nearly ten minutes, just watching his son watch the screen – he wasn’t jerking off or anything, he appeared to be just… watching. John had ample time to see what he was actually looking at, and it appeared to be a young man – a twink, John would find out was the term for “his kind” as he did some research later – eating various fruit out of an older man’s ass. There’d been a banana, and some grapes, and many others that John hadn’t really paid attention to. He’d finally found it in himself to leave his son’s bedroom as a bottle of chocolate sauce had been brought out; he didn’t think he’d be able to stomach that visual. 

He’d heard of bois before, of course he had; he’d even used one or two over his years, of course never whilst he’d been married to Claudia, and enjoyed it. He also knew the history behind it – that even as recently as 50 years ago, when he’d been just a boy himself (but an actual one, a regular child) the population of bois had been a lot greater. About 1 in 10 male children were born with the unique strain of genetics, which seemed to be neither part of nature or nurture but instead appeared spontaneously with no way to track them. Back then, bois had been a dime a dozen, and it was very common to find them lurking in back alleys and family homes alike, serving their DNA-driven purpose. How they served differed in every boi, but one thing remained the same for all of them: the need to find a non-boi, dubbed as “alpha males”, to satisfy. 

As he’d grown up, he’d heard tales of women seeking out bois as well, forcing them to please them – it had been one of the main goals of the feminist elite. It was that, scientists believed, that had led to the gradual decline of bois – in response to being forced to go against their nature, the DNA had drawn back. Evolution at its finest, they supposed. While bois were still born and all hospitals still had the equipment necessary to test for the genes, just in case, they were much more rare now. And as John Stilinski thought about his son, and how he had watched the video of the twink and the bear (another term he had learned through google), he thought about how his son hadn’t even been seeking his own satisfaction.

The last boi he had used, the one who had come onto him in a bar shortly after his return from his stint in the army, had done the same thing. He’d done everything John had wanted him to do, but hadn’t once sought out his own release. It was what bois did; their alphas always came first.

He waited a few weeks before he’d tried to approach the subject with Stiles, searching around for the correct terms and words to bring it up, until it had finally come spilling out. Stiles had been wide-eyed, but had agreed hesitantly to going to the hospital and sit through a few tests.

Another week after that, and the results came in, and John Stilinski unexpectedly found himself the alpha male of a household that only contained himself and a boi. 

And the rest, like the stories of John’s past, was history.

~~

John woke up with the familiar pain one Thursday morning, and whilst he could sense that the pain wasn’t as sharp as it could have been, a quick trip to the bathroom and attempts to push, accentuated with the feeling of a knife being shoved into him over and over – perhaps an exaggeration, but it was how he felt, and he was man enough to admit it.

He knew he shouldn’t have drank so much coffee the day before, but the case the station was currently working on was a time-consuming one, and he couldn’t afford to lose his concentration on it.

Sighing, he returned to his room and opened up the loose ceiling panel in his closet, pulling down the collar. It hadn’t been used in nearly 7 months, and so dust covered it, but one good shake and it was mostly clean. The collar had been one Stiles had picked out, when they’d both agreed that John would only force Stiles to serve him just often enough to calm the needs he had. 

(John didn’t understand that to a boi, when it came to serving their alpha male, no force was required. But then, the Sheriff didn’t have a set of genetics coaxing him to serve; he was only an alpha male because he wasn’t a boi.)

 

They’d both decided that they needed some sort of way to start the scene. Since neither of the Stilinski men were goods with words, they’d easily decided some sort of action or token would be better.

So when Stiles had silently handed his father the plain blue dog collar, pet store tag still attached, John had taken it for what it was. And now, John took it out of it’s hiding place, returned the ceiling panel so that Stiles wouldn’t accidentally see it and discover where the token of his boihood was hidden, and headed towards his boy – or, should he say, his boi.

Stiles was a deep sleeper, but too much jostling still managed to wake him. He woke up just as John was adjusting the collar, tightening it a bit before snapping it closed. His brown eyes blinked a few times, and then widened. John met them tersely, gave a firm nod, and headed to the living room. He stopped on the way to the couch to grab a six pack from the fridge, and to call both the station and the high school to get them both out of their respective duties, and practically ripped the sweatpants he’d been wearing off before sitting back.

Stiles came thudding sleepily down the stairs a few moments after John got settled, and – knowing his place – fell almost gracefully down to his knees in front of his father. There was still the crust of sleep in his eyes, but they were glinting with awareness now, and the elder Stilinski wasted no time in lifting his legs over his son’s shoulders as if they were footrests.

The first few licks over his sore hole were always tentative, and shocking – it was still slightly unnerving to John to have his own son doing something like this for him, but the way the kid got into it helped him relax. The beer helped, too, of course, and he popped the tab on one now as he reached over for the remote to hopefully find a game. Finding one, he leaned back more and allowed himself to just feel.

A minute in, and Stiles was already devouring his hole like it was a feast for kings. It was slightly uncomfortable, as it always was at the beginning, Stiles’ tongue just rough enough to pull at the prolapsed muscles instead of soothe them, but he was a tough man and was able to bear through it until he felt his pucker unclench in response to the action it was receiving. Feeling playful, he tensed his muscles slightly, trapping the tip of Stiles tongue in the small folds; he did it over and over again, like playing cat and mouse with his son; he could feel drool running down his crack as his son salivated after his hole; every time he tried to pierce the tight opening, John would tighten up and deny him. He became more and more frantic, practically panting after what he wanted, diving again and again into the hole to find access.

He’d gotten good at playing with his son like this, and whilst he was sure both of them enjoyed it, the clenching caused too much strain on the sore skin and he eventually had to stop, allowing Stiles to finally sink into the warm hole. Not expecting the hole to be loose, his tongue would sink all the way in on one go, such was the force he was putting into it. As always, a moan ripped through him, like he’d finally found land after being lost at sea for months, or years, or maybe his entire life. It was almost a spiritual moment, for both of them. And it happened every time.

As always after this pivotal moment, Stiles began licking again, though this time he was able to lick the internal walls of his father’s ass instead of just the sphincter. He moved his tongue slowly at times, and then suddenly he would shift gears and lick at it like it was a hot summer day and his father’s hole was a popsicle, his for the taking. He pressed himself in so close during those times that his collar would dig into his father’s thighs.

Every few minutes or so, Stiles would make a quick detour up to his father’s balls, laving his warm tongue over them, sucking on the hairs that covered the sack. The Sheriff would pretend to be engrossed in the game and allow a bit of this, before he’d eventually shove his son back down into his ass where he needed him. It was a routine for them now, and John loved it.

Stiles was also great at sucking, and this time was no different. John could feel the constant pulling at his skin that was the telltale feeling of suction, just light enough that it didn’t hurt but strong enough for him to feel it. In between every lick, like he needed his father’s ass more than he needed oxygen, Stiles would pull back with a gentle suck and then continue.

John found himself, as he often did during these times, wondering just what his son thought of this – he might be a boi, but he was still his son; it must have been awkward for him, serving an alpha who was of his own blood.

To wash down those thoughts, he grabbed his son’s hair and shoved him away from his balls again, and worked on the six pack. The baseball game he’d switched on was only in the second inning; there was plenty of time to think of those thoughts later.

~~

Stiles was pretty sure he was in love, and not just with Lydia Martin – which, at 17, he was beginning to realize probably wasn’t real love in the first place.

No, he was pretty sure he was in love with his father. Well, not his father exactly, but maybe his ass. He even found himself longing for his dad’s cock and balls, though not as often as he found himself daydreaming of the hole – red and bruised with strained muscles, the slight prolapse of the colon seemingly calling out to him, screaming at him to soothe them so that his father could find some relief.

He’d never seen it without hemorrhoids marring the puckered skin, but he was sure it would be just as lovely.

His dad sighed from up above him, breaking Stiles out of his thoughts. “Okay, kid,” he said, pushing lightly on Stiles’ forehead so he could meet his eyes. “I feel like I might be able to go soon; want to lube the way?”

Stiles couldn’t hold back a smile, knowing what that meant. Leaning back in and pursing his lips so he could make as tight of a seal as he could, he began slowly using his tongue to push as much saliva as he could produce into his dad’s ass. He couldn’t help himself from stretching his tongue out as far as possible, hoping that if he went far enough he might be able to just feel something, to get a true taste…

Jackpot. He could just feel the tip of the impending shit, and he nearly trembled in excitement. His dad always seemed to have a sixth sense for when this happened, and would always quickly push him away and excuse himself to empty out in the washroom, not mentioning why, but Stiles could tell he was kind of embarrassed and ashamed. His father usually withdrew for a few days after these occurrences, taking off Stiles’ collar as soon as he had returned from the bathroom, satisfied and empty, stowing it away somewhere Stiles couldn’t find it until his father felt he needed it again.

Stiles would dream of waking up to his father locking the thing around his neck again, and usually following those dreams were more – of days when the collar was a permanent thing, where the tiny parts of his genetic code that made him submissive and pliant were larger and more dominant like they had been in bois of the past.

But he’d also dreamed of joining the FBI, and going to college, and so he knew why his father insisted on taking it off. Maybe one day he’d know just which dream was stronger, which he wanted more, but until then he supposed this would have to do.

He’d learned that if he paused for too long, his father would know that something was up and would pull away, so even though he longed to keep his tongue attached to the turd, he withdrew it to gather more saliva. Each time he pushed another tongueful in he stretched his tongue out as far as he could to brush over the prize. His tastebuds revolted with every taste, and his urge to gag forced more saliva into his mouth, which he used to indulge in this sweet kind of self-torture. 

His dad was on to him, though, and pushed him away just as he could swear he was about to experience something new. He fell forward onto the couch as his dad shoved past him, and listened to the sound of his father’s fading footsteps as he made his way down to the half-bath at the back of the house.

Dreading his father’s return, knowing it would be shortly followed by the removal of his collar until God knows when, Stiles closed his eyes and tried to fall into his dreams, wishing the day had lasted longer.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this work is not beta'd. If you find a mistake, please let me know in the comments and I'll sneak in a quick edit.
> 
> If you want to go a more personal route, I'm working on being more active on my tumblr again - you can find me over there @forbiddenkinks-ao3 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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